Deliverance
by DeniseV
Summary: Webb stops by with a mea culpa after the events of People v. Rabb.


Harmon Rabb sat on the sofa in his loft just north of Union Station, strumming a sad tune on his guitar. The last few weeks had been difficult and stressful, the positive outcome of the hearing having brought nominal relief at best. He thanked whatever gods had been responsible for bringing Mac back into a JAG courtroom - he shuddered to think how the result might have differed if he had not sought Sarah MacKenzie's wise counsel.  
  
Rabb continued playing his guitar, the tension of the last few days finally starting to wane. Though he enjoyed many different kinds of music, his mind and his heart had of late been as one with the blues. It was an old Muddy Waters tune he played as he heard the knock at the door.  
  
He continued playing as he approached the door, delaying opening it to finish a particularly tricky slide as he came to the end of the song. He opened the door and was surprised to find Clayton Webb, six pack in hand, standing at his threshold.  
  
"Sounds pretty good, Harm."  
  
"Clay, what're you doing here?" There was no malice in the question. Even so, Rabb still felt he would be justified in opting to feel that way. Though Webb had used him this time in his scheme to get Colonel Parlovski, Rabb had to admit that the operative had also helped him, both in gaining his initial release from FBI custody and in helping him escape from the brig, allowing him his chance with Parlovski and the documents that might have proved critical in the search for the truth about his MIA father.  
  
"Truce? I thought you could help me with this," he said, indicating the beer that he handed to the navy commander. "That is unless you get the urge to punch my teeth in."  
  
Rabb leaned his guitar up against the wall and accepted the package, opening the door further to allow Clayton Webb entrance to his place.  
  
"I can probably help you with these," Rabb said, a reluctant grin on his face. He placed the entire six pack in the fridge and pulled out two cold bottles, curiously though not surprisingly of the same brand, handing one over to his guest.  
  
Webb had by this time removed his jacket and loosened his tie. He followed Rabb to the living room, where he sat down with a sigh.  
  
"Long day?"  
  
"You could say that." It was after nine o'clock and Webb had obviously just come from work.  
  
"Did you eat?"  
  
Webb laughed lightly. "Yes. I had what some might call a burger earlier between interviews."  
  
"Interviews? Looking at a career change? And you only just came out of your CIA closet."  
  
"Very funny. No. Losing Parlovski has left us with a bit if a mess to clean up." Webb eyed Rabb knowingly and then took a long pull on the imported beer. As he reached to grab a coaster for his bottle, Rabb noticed a slight wince, and then watched as Webb rubbed his lower chest.  
  
"You still sore?" Rabb asked, eyeing the agent's actions with modest concern, though he found it impossible to shake the slight smile at knowing what caused it.  
  
"That wasn't really a fake punch you threw my way the other day." Webb continued rubbing his sore ribs; there seemed little point to hiding the ache now.  
  
"Sorry about that. But you could have let me in on how it was going to go down."  
  
"Maybe I could have," Webb acknowledged. "Good call on changing counsel, Harm," Webb went on, changing the subject. "Seems to me without Mac you may not have gotten your deliverance."  
  
Rabb looked at Webb, seeing in his countenance that the comment was heartfelt.  
  
"Carolyn isn't a bad lawyer, but her game plan for my defense left a lot to be desired."  
  
"Imes is better when her client is guilty. That's where she's built her reputation."  
  
Rabb raised an eyebrow to his CIA friend. "How." Rabb started, but he stopped himself from asking, the tilt of Webb's head, the sly look in his eyes providing the answer without the need of a question.  
  
"You know, Harm, things could have turned out far worse for you. You got lucky."  
  
Rabb didn't really want to discuss it. He knew that he'd acted recklessly. In hindsight, he realized that it could very easily have been him lying dead in that warehouse.  
  
Harmon Rabb nodded his understanding of what Clayton Webb was trying to tell him.  
  
"I know," he admitted.  
  
Webb watched the man before him. He understood the torment Rabb felt. He too had lost a father early in his life, under unknown circumstances. At least his own father had been declared dead, despite the classified nature of that death. It allowed closure, to a certain degree, for he and his mother. To have been a young boy when his father was declared missing in action - Webb understood how that pain could consume a man for a lifetime.  
  
"You should've called."  
  
"Clay, I can't. I won't use the agency, I wouldn't use you like that."  
  
"Huh," Webb puffed sarcastically.  
  
Rabb smiled, realizing the irony in what he had said. But he really didn't want to continue this topic of conversation.  
  
"Did you hear? Mac's back at JAG?"  
  
"I heard." Rabb cocked his head and glared at the CIA agent. 'How did he do that?' he thought. Webb laughed at the look he received from the JAG lawyer.  
  
Rabb stood and headed to his bedroom. "The admiral hadn't even gotten around to putting through her resignation. It's been over a month." He reached under the bed and pulled out the case, returning to the living room, picking up his guitar from near the door on the way.  
  
"He knew. Maybe she didn't, but A.J.'s pretty savvy. He knows you people pretty well."  
  
Rabb frowned at the comment. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What do you mean he knows us pretty well?"  
  
"What do you think, Harm? Do you think I just waltz into the admiral's office, request you and Mac, and then get a big warm hug and a 'no problem' from your boss? Believe me, it doesn't work that way."  
  
"I'm sure it doesn't, Clay." Rabb considered the spy before him. He figured there were far worse bruises suffered, figuratively speaking, by the CIA agent from his efforts to convince Admiral A.J. Chegwidden to gain assistance from he and Mac than the one Webb currently suffered from their tussle the other day.  
  
Rabb set the case next to Webb, and then sat down nearby with his guitar.  
  
"What's this?" Webb asked.  
  
"What's it look like?"  
  
"It looks like a guitar." Webb opened the case and pulled out the acoustic instrument.  
  
"That's good. I know you play."  
  
"How do you know that?"  
  
"You're not the only one with information, Clay."  
  
"Never said I was." He set the case aside and tested the guitar for tuning. Webb spent the next minute tuning up while Rabb gathered the empty beer bottles and replaced them with cold ones.  
  
"Nice tone," Webb said. "The guitar is not my instrument of choice, you know."  
  
"I'm sure you're good enough to keep up."  
  
"Gee, I sure hope so," Webb countered blithely.  
  
"What should we try?"  
  
"Well, like I told you, I'm not that up on the typical guitar repertoire. How about this?" Webb played the five familiar notes that heralded the beginning of the tune.  
  
"Hah!" Rabb laughed wholeheartedly. "I guess that's appropriate. Sort of." Webb played the five notes again, daring Rabb to join in.  
  
And he did, echoing the five notes back to Webb with his guitar. Webb returned the five again, and then said, "Shouldn't at least one of us be playing a banjo?"  
  
"Do you play the banjo?"  
  
"No. You?"  
  
"No." Rabb took the song to the next measure, playing the next nine notes of the famous movie theme. They would soon be taking off, the slow entrance into the lightning fast bluegrass masterpiece definitely daunting to the cello master.  
  
"Then I guess we'll stick with what we've got." They continued playing for a surprising while, Rabb clearly familiar with the fingering of the most complicated sections of the music, Webb trying his best to keep up.  
  
"Of course, it would be more realistic if one of us was inbred and only had three teeth."  
  
If the effort of keeping up with Rabb on the give and take of "Dueling Banjos" hadn't done him in, the last comment took Webb completely out of the moment. He lost track of where they were in the song, and started laughing.  
  
"All right, all right. You win," he panted, laying the guitar on his knees while he tried to massage the feeling back in his fingers.  
  
Harm smiled at his friend and thought, 'I really did. With friends like you and Mac, I really did.'  
  
The End. 


End file.
